


Anarkali - A Zutara Romance

by amywritesficsandstuff



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst with a Happy Ending, Dancer Katara, F/M, Forbidden Love, India, Mild Sexual Content, Mughal Empire, Passion, Prince Zuko - Freeform, Royalty, Sexual Tension, Zutara Bollywood Week, Zutara Bollywood Week 2020, Zutara Month, Zutara Month 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27193373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amywritesficsandstuff/pseuds/amywritesficsandstuff
Summary: In 17th century subcontinental India, lowly court dancer Katara Begum works to feed her family only. She knows more than anyone that to live in the palace is an existence which obeys a hierarchy, an order which serves the powerful Emperor Akbar and his family- and she is at the bottom. Her life is lonely, scorned by the calculating and beautiful noblewomen of the court, and envied by her fellow dancers- to them, she is a symbol of promiscuity and sensuality. And a women who holds her sexuality in her hands is a women to be feared.Until Katara's beauty and talent becomes the subject of the sharp gaze of the Emperor's son- Zuko Akbar. Charming yet passionate, Zuko has an eye for elegance, and he is enamored with Katara and her graceful body. Quickly, the prince becomes enraptured and their relationship blossoms- he nicknames her Anarkali, after the pomegranate blush to her deep skin.The two young lovers soon find that their path is filled with thorns as the court is enraged by their romance. The prince and the dancer must find out if their love is enough to prevent others from extinguishing their flame.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Kudos: 6





	1. Khoobani (Apricot)

The steamed scents of roasting lamb and spiced saffron rice drift and curl up from the palace kitchens while the agitated shouts of the cooks blend with the clanks of the large deghs and kadahis outside. Katara almost hums with relief as she looks on from the windows of her small chambers. To anyone else, the raucous and unsettling sounds would have been a major blight on the grand aura of the palace, which was why the kitchen courtyard was enclosed nearer the servants' residence. But to Katara, the familiar buzz just soothed the almost daily turmoil in her stomach. It grounded her, reminded her that even if she got lost in her head and her thoughts, her life at the palace would always be constant and routine- just like the preparation of the Royal court's feasts. It helped her think less of the job she had to do. 

Until a familiar tinkle of bangles broke her reverie. 

'Katara Sahiba, are we nearly ready?'  
The churning in her stomach, reflective of the churn of the ghee down in the kitchen courtyard, intensified as Katara turned to greet her fellow courtesan. 

'Namastay (greetings), Sister Meenakshi. I was just finishing up with my dupatta.' She straightened out her gem studded maroon dupatta, secured onto her done up hair with small pins. The dupatta fell over her crimson lehenga choli, the small fitted bodice embroidered with silver thread. The waistline of the sweeping skirt encircled her hips, again embedded with a rich patchwork of gold embellishments, flaring slightly where it reached the floor. 

Meenakshi was equally adorned. Her dress, where Katara's was a deep red, was a maroon purple color, and her hair was twined with fragrant jasmines. The dancers were never this embellished- the traditional dresses for their Kathak performances were saris, with low hanging harem pants. But for tonight's occasion, with the palace preparing for a convergence of Rajput princes and kings, the entertainment had to be as deserving for the high profile audiences they would perform for tonight. 

'Sahiba, I was not born yesterday. Nor have I not grown accustomed to your- strange - behaviours. I wonder what merriment the kitchen's servants provide you each night?'

Katara tried not to flush, aware of how the red on her cheeks would clash with her costume. Meenakshi, the self designated leader of the court dancers, never missed the smallest detail. Without her sharp eye and her cloying tongue, Meenakshi would not have been so successful in attracting her unique selection of clientele night after night, not have been as successful in ensnaring the attention of wealthy and desperate men, willing to while away the money in their pockets for her attention. But those same attributes, her ability with words and her body, turned sharp and hard when it came to Katara. She viewed each and every one of them as competition, a threat to her hoard of hard earned riches. 

'While I do not have time to properly reprobate you, I am here to inform you that we have less than an hour until the dawat is to commence. We perform as soon as the last platters are cleared away.'

Katara inclined her head, ears still ringing in embarassment. Meenakshi turned to leave, delicately stepping over the littered pots of face creams and paste on the floor.

'Oh, I nearly forgot. Your family have requested your attendance in their chambers.'

Katara did not have to see Meenakshi's face to hear the underlying mockery in her voice, the pitying smirk that was certainly twisting her painted red lips. Such was the expression Katara was used to seeing on the faces of the other dancers whenever her family's name was mentioned. 

For Katara's situation was different. Where the girls that Katara worked with had been born into court life, grown up watching their mothers dance, knew that their future too was on the marble floor of the court dancing before the king, Katara had had a much more gracious life. Her family was of a noble heritage, serving under the Rajputs themselves. She had as a young girl worn the finest silks, the most intricate brocades. Her father had been the Rajput king of Merwar's trusted advisor, sitting at his right hand side for the most part of the day. Katara had known an easy living, wanting for nothing, spending her days playing amongst the Rajput princes. 

Katara still remembered the day when their life was reversed forever.

Sobs in the middle of the night, shouts in the dark, echoes across the gilded halls outside their chambers. She remembered her mother's maid holding a scared 10 year old Katara behind her scarves, while Katara watched her own mother weep her brother's name. Fearing for the worst, and the worst was indeed what they faced. Her father's reddening face as he sat before the Maharajah, humiliated as a messenger delivered the news- her brother had eloped. With a Muslimah. Had left her family for a life within the enemy's walls.  
They had found his chamber emptied of his belongings, his horse missing from the stables. Maybe her parents had not noticed, too caught up in their life of bliss, but Katara had seen the signs- her brother leaving for days on end under the guise of diplomatic visits to neighbouring kingdoms. Had noticed his increasing detachment to her family and their dinners. Had noticed the lack of his presence at their weekly worship at the mandir. Had heard the whispers among the maids of sightings of him and a certain daughter of a Muslim noble he had taken an interest in. He had gone without a word, without a goodbye. Just a messenger and the devastating feeling of his complete betrayal.

Katara's family had left before the Maharajah could issue an order. That was their sole reward for her father's years of service. The small consolation of a private departure.

They discarded their Hindu family name, for what Hindu king would take them in with the weight of the humiliation on their backs? They knew their life was no more with these kingdoms, these customs. The only hope left for them was the ever flourishing empire of the foreign Muslim King. They had heard that there was opportunity there for a new life, a life where both religions were allowed side by side. A hope for work amongst their palace walls. 

So when a nearly 12 year old Katara had arrived with her parents to the palace, there had been some questions, but those were soon dispelled upon the willingness to help. And in this way, Katara and her mother took up jobs, anything that would earn them a meal to feed them. Every night, Katara would watch the dancers, mesmerised by the movements of their hands, the quick work of their feet, the tinkles of the ghungroos on their ankles working in melodic chime with the sound of the court musicians. She practiced in their small chambers when she thought her parents weren't watching. Her mother had caught her one night, but instead of scolding her at seeing her doing what was considered dishonest work, she saw an opportunity for a more stable life. So the next morning Katara was dancing, albeit shyly and haltingly , in front of Meenakshi's mother. Even though she was only 14, the woman had seen a natural fluidity in the girl's moves, though unpolished, an innate talent for the art. 5 years later, here she was. A life borne out of necessity, a life where even though she was at the bottom, she had an income and a passion.

The stairs twisted narrower and deeper as she walked from her chambers to the servant's quarter.


	2. Chapter 2

I am about to update this please wait patiently! NaNoWriMo Fic!


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